Arena
by CrystalXanadu
Summary: My take on what the third season of Heavy Gear could have been like, with a war story arc and NO punches pulled.
1. Prologue: The Enemy Within

Arena  
  
By Bluestar  
  
  
  
  
  
Dirx: In the arena, kid, all bets are off.  
  
  
  
  
  
Disclaimer: HG isn't mine, never will be. These characters aren't mine, I just borrowed them and promise to put them back when I've finished playing with them.  
  
Author's Notes: First things first, my humblest apologies to the show's creators for stealing some of the ideas they wanted to use. But considering that there will probably never be another HG series (not fair!), I wanted to do something that gave the series the continuity it could have had. I hope I've succeeded.  
  
Second thing: I had to force myself to re-watch every episode (J/K, I loved the excuse to do so). As I did, I picked up on certain things that seemed like background stuff. However, with Arena in mind, I decided to put a slightly different twist on them.  
  
Third thing: Enjoy!  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Prologue: The Enemy Within  
  
  
  
TN 1917  
  
James Clark opened his eyes to a blue, alien sky.  
  
Under his back, hard, dry sand provided a rough cushion. It was hot sand, baked under an alien sun for God-knows-how-many years, and now that sun was trying to bake him. He shook his head, then dug his elbows into the sand and tried to get up. This brought to his attention the fact that his chest hurt, and that his head felt like a line of Gears were tap-dancing through his brain.  
  
I hate this planet . . .  
  
He collapsed back to the hot, gritty sand. Vaguely, in the distance, he could hear shouts. He tried to rise again, to fail just as miserably. Lying there, he took stock of his apparent injuries. By raising his head slightly, he could see that his flak jacket had absorbed the bullets fired at him by - his mind focused on an odd memory - his own side?  
  
Still, it felt like the ammunition had had enough punch to bruise. The headache was easily accounted for - dehydration. He closed his eyes in a fragile defense against the intensity of the sunlight.  
  
He wasn't sure how much later it was when someone said, "Hey, he's one of ours - and still alive!"  
  
The young soldier opened his eyes again to see a concerned face bent over him. He identified the person as wearing a Southern uniform. "Take it easy, son. The war's over."  
  
The younger one licked cracked lips with a papery tongue before whispering, "Did we win?"  
  
"We won. The CEF surrendered."  
  
"Surrendered . . ."  
  
The older man nodded, then sighed as the young soldier's eyes closed again. "Here, take him one to the medics," he said to one of the Southerners gathered around him.  
  
But that was years ago . . .  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Several cycles later . . .  
  
A group of young teenagers sat around a trideo set in a shabby bar in Khayr ad-Din. Each of the teens wore a dirty pink strip of cloth tied around their upper left arms. Each teen obviously hadn't washed in a good while, and each was wearing clothes salvaged from Trash City's namesake junk heaps. They were all scrawny, as if they didn't eat regularly. Aside from that there was no particular common characteristic to be seen - blond sat alongside brunette, tall with short.  
  
Onscreen, the Vanguard of Justice battled the Southern Shadow Dragons in a replay of yesterday's broadcast.  
  
"Vanguard equals victory!" cheered a short brunette with dark brown eyes. "Go punk those punks!"  
  
The rest of the match was spent cheering the Vanguard on. In the relative darkness of the bar, the gang - known as the Junk Punkers - didn't notice that an old-looking man was seated nearby, quietly observing them over his drink.  
  
"Hey, Kirakowa," one particularly tough-looking youth said. "Ya finished with those repairs to my hoverboard yet?"  
  
"I'm done, Eddins," the petite brunette replied. "It's ready whenever you are."  
  
"Hmm," the white-bearded stranger said to himself. "So her name is Kirakowa . . ."  
  
Cautious as the gang was, they didn't see the Vanguard pilot follow them outside.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Now . . .  
  
In his Post Oasis apartment, ex-Lieutenant Jan Augusta smiled as the trideo broadcast of the 43rd Annual Terra Novan Trideo Awards show came to an end. The news followed straight after, bringing disturbing but not wholly unexpected news.  
  
"With the Earth menace gone from our skies for many cycles, hostilities between North and South are beginning to flare up once more. Scenes captured on trideo in a bar in Trash City are only a sample of the old grudges beginning to flare up once more."  
  
The scene changed from the newsreader to some footage obviously shot from security cameras, and Augusta switched off the trideo set. "Those journalists are fools. This will only worsen the people's panic."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
At the same time, Lt. Creet of the Shadow Dragons was also watching the broadcast. Unlike Augusta, he was smiling at the growing hatred between the two polar superpowers. He knew that this would make his job much easier.  
  
There was a tentative rap on his door. "Yes?" he barked.  
  
"Um, sir? It's Tech Loughrey, sir. You ordered me to report to you?"  
  
The Southern lieutenant touched a button on his remote control, and the screen went blank. "Come in, Loughrey."  
  
I hate this planet . . . 


	2. Chapter 1: The Best Gears Of My Life

****

Chapter One - The Best Gears Of My Life

Disclaimer: See prologue 

Author's Note: The other team Colonel Rika mentions is explained in another story being currently written, Dante's Inferno. 

* * *

"Did you see their faces when they crawled out of their Gears?" chuckled Marcus, now back in the Shadow Dragon's Trash City locker room. He was referring to the latest Vanguard booby-trap that had backfired quite spectacularly at the 43rd Annual Terra Novan Trideo Award Show. A tiranium-laden Os-Gear - Marcus winced inwardly at the Maddox-devised pun - intended as a surprise 'present' for the Dragons had instead been delivered to the Vanguard, thanks to Sebastian's investigation and his own quick thinking. 

"A very positive sight," Zerve admitted. "But Rank and his negatory missiles have damaged my Gear! Look at the paintwork, man!" Zerve waved expressively at the scorched orange paint, nearly socking Sonja in the process. Fortunately, she dodged in time. 

"Be thankful it was only the paintwork and not your head, moonbeam," Dirx advised. 

* * *

In their own pit at the other side of the arena were the Dragons' opposite number, the Vanguard of Justice. Unlike the Dragons, they were not celebrating. Instead, they stood at attention before a large screen on which the visage of the Northern Guard's supreme commander was displayed. Rika was almost snarling.

"I have never seen such a complete display of incompetence, Vanguard. After this inadequate show, I am reminded of why I considered a replacement team after the Dante Prison fiasco."

This was news to most of the Vanguard. Had they not been at attention, they would have exchanged surprised glances. As it was, only Major Wallis fully understood her remarks. 

"However, I do have one idea for you to win back the Tournament title, Major. I hope that this time, you will not let me down." 

* * *

__

One week later . . .

"WELL, GEARHEADS, IT'S THAT TIME YOU'VE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR! YES, NOW IS THE TIME FOR THE HEAVY GEAR CHAMPIONSHIP SERIES TO START ONCE MORE!"

Maddox paused for a moment as the crowd roared its approval. 

"AND HERE'S THE HEAVIEST GEARS ON THE DUELLING CIRCUIT! FROM THE NORTH, IT'S THE VANGUARD OF JUSTICE! GUNTHER GROONZ! RANK! SERGE GARPENLOV! YOJI KIRAKOWA! AND EX-HEAVY GEAR CHAMPION MAJOR DRAKE ALEXANDER WALLIS III!" 

Though the Vanguard were only second best to the Dragons, they still had their share of fans, and the crowd cheered enthusiastically. The Vanguard waved confidently to the fans, drinking in the applause. 

Wallis opened a private line to Yoji. "Are those mechanical piranha reprogrammed?"

"Yes, sir. They'll only go after the Dragons." Yoji's voice was rich with the satisfaction of a job well done. 

"AND MAKE ROOM FOR THE CHAMPIONS! SONJA BRIGGS! KUSUNOKI TACHI! ZERVE! DIRX! GREL SOLDIER SEBASTIAN! AND THE YOUNG DRAGON LEADER - MARCUS STEVEN ROVER!" 

Marcus jumped off the Dragon's start pad with his customary spin. "Dragons forever!" he yelled to the screaming crowd, waving his vibro-trident at them. 

Maddox turned the volume on his microphone up high in order to cut through the noise.

"WELL, ALL YOU CRAZY GEARHEADS! WITHOUT FURTHER ADO, HERE'S THE RULES! IT'S A WHAMMO ON THE AMMO TOURNAMENT, BUT WITH A TWIST!" 

At this, the sluicegates to one side of the arena opened. Gallons if water cascaded across the arena floor, sweeping up dust, dirt and Gears as it went along. And the waster was rising. Soon the water level was past the heads of the Gears and creeping steadily up the specially strengthened sides of the arena. 

"THAT'S RIGHT, FOLKS! IT'S UNDERWATER!"

Maddox grinned happily at the response to his newest crowd-pleasing spectacle. 

"What's Maddox trying to do to us now?" Marcus wondered aloud as he swept one hand through the enclosing liquid, trying to get a feel for its resistance. 

"Nothing good, that's for sure," Dirx growled. 

There was a thunking noise under Marcus' feet, and the arena shuddered. Marcus struggled to keep his balance as sections of the floor moved aside. Bubbles streamed up from the gaps, the flurries almost concealing the schools of mechanical fish that swam up. 

"AND HERE'S A LITTLE SOMETHING EXTRA FOR YOU FANS! NOT ONLY WILL THE DRAGONS AND THE VANGUARD BE FIGHTING EACH OTHER, BUT THEY'LL ALSO HAVE TO CONTEND WITH MY FRIENDLY LITTLE FISHIES HERE!" 

"Yeah . . . about as friendly as a kick in the teeth." 

"Calm down, Dirx. They'll be attacking the Vanguard, too." 

And then there was no time to talk as the start buzzer went off. 

* * *

"So we won again, even though those cheating dogs tried to sic those piranhas on us," Marcus concluded to his fascinated audience. The Dragons had agreed to visit the Shadow Dragon Fan Club Headquarters in Port Oasis and, after rescuing Sebastian from a pile of enthusiastic kids, Marcus had gamely volunteered to answer any questions. The 'any' had ended up as 'many', and more questions came as more people joined the circle around Marcus and the Dragons. 

"Yeah, the Dragons never lose!" Spencer exclaimed triumphantly from his place almost at Marcus' feet. Marcus laughed. 

"That's right, kid." Internally, Marcus knew this might not be the case, but he had to appear confident. Best not to let the fans know how close the Vanguard's cheating had come to winning them some of the recent tournaments. "Any other questions?" 

There was an immediate explosion of sound. Marcus had heard of the word 'cacophony' once, but had never heard the noise associated with it. This, he considered, would be an appropriate time to use the word. 

The adults were at least as enthusiastic as the kids, and several of the young women were giving the male Dragons looks that were making them extremely uncomfortable. Some were louder than others. Two women, one blonde and one redhead, had simultaneously screamed "Will you marry me, Zerve?"

Another, less dangerous, question floated out of the mass. "What were you thinking at the end of the last New Baja race?" 

Marcus gratefully seized on this question, trying to ignore Zerve, who was getting redder by the minute. "You want to know what I was thinking in the New Baja tournament? That's a good question." He tried to ignore the moonbeam, who had gone a rather interesting shade of pink that contrasted nicely with the purple spikes of his hair.

Marcus' listeners immediately quietened, eager to her more from the champion. The Red Rover's pilot seated himself comfortably on a nearby table, swinging his legs back and forth as he answered. 

"Well, you all know how that one looked from the outside. The Vanguard way ahead of us Dragons right up until the end. So we all know the Vanguard must have cheated, right?" 

"Right!" everyone chorused. 

"Well, obviously I knew all along what they were doing . . ." _But I didn't. I didn't realise until it was almost too late . . ._

"Where are you, Marc-o? They're poundin' us here!" Over the Gear-to-Gear visual communication, Marcus could see that Zerve's face was set in an expression of intense concentration as he dodged a Vanguard missile. 

"I'll be right with you, guys." Marcus heaved at the rock that had trapped his Gear's leg. The Red Rover was definitely going to need some time in the repair bays after this tournament.

"Yeah, make it fast, man!" Zerve advised as he closed the frequency. 

Rank rolled past the trapped Red Rover, making a rude gesture that would later be edited out of the broadcasts. "Slithering along again, reptile? Can't have that!" A burst of autocannon fire from the Droolin' Duellin' Mad Dog walked across the Red Rover's armour as Rank rolled past. "Vanguard equals victoryyyy!"

Marcus staggered to his feet and set off after the Mad Dog. He reached top speed sooner than he had expected, and the speed felt too slow. But he shrugged it off. The readouts had to be right. 

By the time Marcus reached his battered teammates, every one of the Vanguard was in the lead. Sebastian was down with fried actuators, and had climbed out of his Gear. Zerve's left foot was dangling by a single wire. Dirx, Tachi and Sonja had already started into Collision Canyon. 

"We will 'be okay', as it is said," Sebastian reassured the young pilot. "Go, Marcus. Win the cup for us."

Marcus nodded sharply. "Right." He hauled his Gear into action again, trying to stifle a yawn. It had been a long night, and the day promised to be longer. 

"I made it through Collision Canyon with no problems. Didn't even see one of those cheating Northern dogs," Marcus continued to the silently spellbound fans. "My engine redlined once or twice, but that's nothing unusual. But in that, I saw my first clue that something wasn't right." _I never noticed that. I was tired - too tired. I managed to overlook what should have been the first hint of Vanguard sabotage._

"Wow!" Spencer exclaimed. "But what were that Vanguard up to?"

"I wasn't sure exactly until Wallis went past me. It was near the end of the race, and the Dragons had fallen further behind. We were just about to start the third stage. I was the only Dragon left, and Wallis the only Vanguard pilot. It was a battle between champion and ex-champion." 

The crowd of fans went "Oooh!" in excitement, although they had seen the trideo broadcasts before and knew the outcome. 

My external sensors tagged Wallis' speed, and I could see that he was going slower than I was. But he was overtaking me." _That's wrong. I didn't notice until the computer flashed up an error._ "Then I realised that those Northern dogs had tampered with the Dragons' speedometers." 

"It's time you learned to lose, Rover!" came the taunt from the passing King of Sting. The Vanguard pilot cut sideways across the Red Rover's path, throwing an orange dust cloud up over the red Gear's sensors. 

"And it's time you learned to stop cheating, Major!" Marcus retorted. "Your cheap tricks will get you nowhere." As he spoke, Marcus was frantically tapping commands into the computer system, disabling the redline warning and the speedometer. The boy leader straightened, satisfied. Impossible, now, to tell how fast he was going. But he knew that now he had a fighting chance of winning. 

The Red Rover leaped after the King of Sting, swiftly catching up to the speeding Gear. Marcus ignored the smoke beginning to wisp from his mutated V-engine, concentrating only on victory. 

Marcus raised his autocannon and fired, causing Wallis to pause long enough to loose a rocket at him. Marcus kicked the Red Rover's throttle up a notch, dodging the missile by bare centimetres. 

The two Gears were almost neck and neck as they circled the track, taking every opportunity to try and knock each other off the track. At one point Marcus was skating along the very edge of the track, with only the enhanced gyro of his Gear saving him from toppling over the edge. Black smoke was pouring from the Red Rover by then, creating a smoggy cloud filled with the smell of half-burned fuel oil. 

A wailing siren interrupted Marcus' concentration. "CAUTION. FUEL RESERVES LOW," blazed a red sign on the control panel. 

"Not now, not now," muttered Marcus, frantically trying to keep his shuddering Gear in one piece. Damage and ammo stats lit up on screen, but he ignored them. "Come on engine, hold together!" 

As they went down the final slope, Marcus was only just in front of the Major. Not daring to twist his Gear around, even to fire at Wallis, Marcus heard the beeping noise that signalled an incoming missile. His engine screamed in metallic agony as he forced more speed out of it, and Marcus was barely five metres away from the finish line when the missile exploded at his back. 

The force of the explosion flung him forward over the line, just as it had the year before, and the battered Red Rover rolled to a stop. Black oil from the damaged V-engine housing spilled over the sand, looking sickeningly like blood as Marcus staggered out of the cockpit to receive their latest New Baja trophy. 

Wallis' cry of despair was almost music to his ears.

"Why, I ask you, WHY must he always WIN?" 

"And you asked how I felt at the end of that tournament? Victorious." 

The spontaneous cheers of the Dragon fans brought a grin to his face. He let the cheers continue for some time. Then, self-confidence restored, he and the other Dragons spoke of the tournaments they'd fought in that cycle. Draws and Maddox's spurious penalties had made the score between the Dragons and the Vanguard almost equal, but Wallis' desperation was no joke. From something Wallis had let slip once, Marcus knew that the Major's career hung in the balance. 

Finally, Marcus rose to his feet. "It's been great, being here with all you fans today. The Dragons and I really appreciate you being here for us. It really does make a difference, knowing you're cheering us on. With this kind of support, we're sure to win the Heavy Gear Championship next week. Can I count on you all watching?"

"YEAH!"

* * *

Maddox's voice rang out over Trash City Arena and through the intercom into the Dragon's pits. On the screen in the locker room of the Shadow Dragons, the Vanguard were being introduced. 

"I'm gonna punk all those punks!" claimed Yoji's magnified voice as she punched a prematurely victorious fist into the air. The Punk-Fu mimicked its pilot's actions, drawing a thin cheer from the Vanguard fans. 

Silent Dragon pilots started up their Gears and began to drop out of sight as Maddox called "RABID RANK!" out from the Vanguard's pit. 

Marcus was the last into his Gear. He took a brief look around the echoing locker room, remembering the anticipation, the certainty of winning that the Dragons had been feeling this time last cycle. There had been none of that this year, only empty silence as the six pilots had exchanged wordless looks. 

With that cold silence in his mind and heart, Marcus pulled down the hatch and waited as the Red Rover too dropped out of sight. 


End file.
